Thursday, April 30, 2009

Slayer is on vacation next week, and we're hoping to get away for a night. Our six-year anniversary is in May, and we've only been on one bleeping vacation in our entire ten-ish years together. And then a couple of years ago, we stayed overnight in a hotel to celebrate an anniversary, and he accidentally brought two right shoes, then burnt a hole in the back of his shirt while ironing it. (It's not his fault. I was cracking jokes and distracting him.) Later that night, we went down to the hotel bar and saw a band that stole Roxette's hair.

Give our hair back, damnit!

And really, how can you resist a repeat of a trip like that? Especially when it's with Slayer. I don't think I appreciate him enough. When I think of some of the other twits I could have ended up with, it makes every cell in my body wince in unison. I realize that I have repeatedly referred to my ex-boyfriends in passing, but I've never given you a full rundown of my dating history.

So here's a quick review.

Boys That I've Dated, B.S. (Before Slayer)

You're already familiar with the guy who got the cue ball stuck in his mouth.

There was the one who thought he was a werewolf. He frenzied on my couch and tried to tear it into pieces. Emphasis on tried.

You know the little guy in the mob movies that does all the talking? Yeah, I dated him.

There was the one who slept with my best friend at church camp.

I dated one guy who never took off his trench coat. I suspect he wore it while he was sleeping.

There was the one who always wore a Speedo. He looked good in it, but still.

I quickly broke up with the guy who kept trying to swallow my nose when he kissed me.

One guy thought he was a vampire and used to put red-tinted corn syrup on people and try to lick it off.

I was convinced that this one boy was gay until he asked me out. Let's just say that my first instincts were right.

There was the guy who actually bled whiskey. At least it smelled like it.

I caught one boyfriend negotiating with a girl who worked at my gym. He was trying to buy a video of me in the shower. He quickly became an EX boyfriend. The goober. (And for those of you who end up Googling "shower video"? Let me tell you now; you're in the wrong place, honey.)

One guy used to get down on his hands and knees and beg when he wanted something. So I bought him dog treats. This seems mean unless you've actually eaten Milk Bones before. The mint flavored ones are really good.

One boy had a sister who used to like to spike the KoolAid and watch us get drunk. Sadly, we didn't realize this until later. Much later.

Another guy took me to a party on our first date and showed me slides from his Spring Break. About 15 of them were photos of the toilet after he used it. UGH.

Sadly enough, this is not a comprehensive list, but you get the idea. TGFS. Thank God for Slayer.

I am writing on behalf of The Universe to inform you of our official verdict re: yourself.

After extensive consideration, it has been determined that you do not suck. At all. In anything. Except when you use straws. Or get a little too enthusiastic while kissing Slayer.

If you have any further information requests, please don't hesitate to contact us.

Sincerely,

The Universe

This email really made me feel better, because I have been worried about the aforementioned suckage. In fact, I may need to have an I Don't Suck party sometime soon. I hope people will come to it, because otherwise I shall have to conclude that I do indeed suck as suckingly as possible.

But I'm not one to pass up the opportunity to exchange emails with the universe, so I wrote back:

If you have someone buy my book, I'll send you B-NAG. Although since it would be universal, I guess it should really be called UB-NAG. Either way, it will be kewl, and all the alternate universes would be jealous.

Best regards,Carrie

P.S. Yes, that was a bribery attempt. I admit it.

B-NAG is an acronym for bonus ninjas and grass. And when I say grass, I'm not talking about the calming but potent kind of grass. I'm talking about the stuff on your lawn (assuming that your lawn isn't calming but potent). And really, wouldn't you buy a book if it came with B-NAG?

I thought you would.

Another reply from The Universe:

Dear Ms Harris,

The Universe is not above bribery. How do you think Saturn got all of those lovely rings?

Sincerely,

The Universe

And my response to the Universe's response, which was a response to my response to the Universe's original email.

You got that?

Dear Universe,

B-NAG en route. Should I burn it in my backyard, or what?

Carrie

P.S. Can I quote your letter on my blog? Because you are kewl.

And the response to the response that was a response to the response response to the original email:

Dear Ms. Harris,

Please send it with your friends, the pants-stealing aliens.

Also, yes, you may quote us. We are very vain and love recognition. After all, we are everything.

Sincerely,

The Universe

So, I need to rent a spaceship from the aliens to send some B-NAG to the Universe. I also need to thank Kiersten for her tireless work as the secretary... ahem ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT to the Universe.

I also need to show off my awesome zombatar. Don't you want a zombatar too? You can make one here.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

2. Natalie and I were emailing back and forth re: the merpire calendar, and she spoke the magic phrase: "Preliminary Merpire." And lo, I said, "Ooooh! That would be a great name for a band. We could kick The PUNKtuations' butt!"

3. Thus began the smack talk. And lo, it was plentiful.

4. Now, we are embroiled (and by "we" I mostly mean me, Kiersten, and Natalie... poor Stephanie is only guilty by association at this point, or she was until late yesterday when she commented on my blog) in a lyric challenge. Kiersten started things off with the first PUNKtuations! single, My Love For You Is In ALL CAPS.

5. Now, it's our turn. So I bring you the lyrics to the first Preliminary Merpire single, Centerfold. It's to be sung to this tune, which refuses to be imbedded, damn it. But if you are a big geek like me, you could open it in another window and follow along with the lyrics to get the full effect.

CENTERFOLD, by Preliminary Merpire.

Does he swim?Is he trim?Does he have a fin?My underwater beefcake always made me think of sinHe glistened like snowflakes, especially in the rainTo resist my sparkly angel was an effort all in vainYears go by, I'm looking through a merpire magazineAnd there's my sparklin' fishman on the pages in between

My blood runs coldMy memory has just been soldMy merpire's a sparkly centerfoldMerpire's a sparkly centerfold

I could never pass a testSpent classes thinking about his chestI was shy, I turned away, before he caught my eyeI couldn't contain my drool whenever I passed his baby poolSomething had a hold on me when studly swam close byThose smooth ochre fish limbs, too magical to touchTo see him in that seaweed garb is really just too much

My blood runs coldMy memory has just been soldMy merpire's a sparkly centerfoldMerpire's a sparkly centerfold

Now listen:It's okay; let me be frankThis ain't no big salty fish tankI hope that when this fish is goneI'll see you when your legs are onWalk around, yes we will, we'll walk around in privateFind ourselves a sheltered cliff, get nekkid and dive itA part of me would turn to fishIf you would just make me your dishOh no, I can't deny youOh yeah, I really wanna eye you

My blood runs coldMy memory has just been soldMy merpire's a sparkly centerfoldMerpire's a sparkly centerfold

Monday, April 27, 2009

This video made me laugh so hard that I cried. Fair warning that this one is rated R, and we're not talking pirates here.

I'm not sure I can say anything funnier than that, so I'm going to cut this short today and leave you with a teaser, which you can read aloud in one of those booming film announcer voices. You know, for fun.

Join us this week on The Wonder That Is My Blog as we unveil MORE Twilight parody, Carrie's email correspondence with the universe, news about the upcoming fabulous Merpire Calendar, and explore the growing rivalry between two bands: Preliminary Merpires and The PUNKtuations. And a bunch of other random things that Carrie hasn't thought of yet.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Am I the only person in the world who thinks that Kris Allen from American Idol looks like a demented Muppet? Because he does. I know many of you don't heckle AI on a regular basis as we do in the Harris household, so let me demonstrate.

Look at this: Muppet Face.

And Muppet Face.

Or, if you have problems with the whole cross-gender Muppet/human comparison thing, try this:

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Okay, before we get on with the Twilight parody, I need your help. I am trying to talk Natalie into making a merpire pinup calendar. Because really, wouldn't you just love to have 12 months of THIS on your wall?

He's OCHRE! He sparkles! OOOooooh!

Episode 7: Thumbs Up for Merpires

Ellba jerked awake, the dream dissolving into nothingness. She sat up, looking around in alarm, but didn't see anyone waiting around to kill her. It was kind of a disappointment; she was starting to think that she'd have to take out a hit on herself if she ever wanted to get some action. But in the meantime she settled back down, cushioning her head on the rubbery side of the baby pool. Even though Ward had left some time during the night, it still smelled like him.

She licked it, and it tasted like fish sticks. Just like when they kissed.

Her baby pool lickery was interrupted by the honking of a horn; Ward was waiting in the driveway. She jumped out of the pool and dried off quickly, throwing on some clothes. When she made it out to the car, he said, "Um... Ellba? You're still wearing the Saran Wrap."

"Oh. It's... uh, a fashion statement."

"That's one word for it."

They made their way through the almost-deserted streets of Spork. It was a small town; this had less to do with the cruddy weather and more to do with the fact that people didn't want to live in a town named after a plastic eating implement with a personality disorder.

"Ward?" said Ellba, as they pulled into the Spork High School parking lot. "I want to be a merpire."

"Not this again." He rolled his perfect ochre eyes, and her heart went pitty-pat just watching it. "I told you before--"

"You don't understand. I want to be with you. I'll do anything. I'll... I'll thumb wrestle you for it."

"You'll WHAT?"

"Thumb wrestle you. If I win, you have to make me a merpire. If you win," she paused, swallowing with effort, "I'll quit asking."

"You don't know what you're asking." His shoulders shook with the effort of containing his emotions, and he held out his thumb. "As if you could outrun my thumb!" His hand moved so fast it was a blur, and before she took a single breath, he tweaked her nose. "Or even fight my thumb off!" His hand grabbed hers, and in a flash she was pinned.

"I'm not afraid of you, Ward. Or your thumb." Ellba tried to grasp his hand, but he pulled away. "You sparkle. You really ought to be a calendar pinup."

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

I think that the Universe has it out for me, or maybe it's just some random Greek god that I've ticked off. Perhaps I shouldn't have told off that swan that was making lewd gestures at me the other day.

Ahem. Forget I said that.

Anyway, in my first post ever, I mentioned how I got my offer from Super Agent Kate and was then battered by hugeola hail. In August. Today, I was walking home from the bus stop with the girls when it started hailing again. I learned that all that time at the gym has paid off, because I can indeed run down the street with 55 lbs. of screaming twin in my arms. Without collapsing, even.

During my wedding, which happened to be outdoors, there was a rainstorm. We were all snug in the gazebo, but the wind kept blowing my veil straight up. I looked like the Bride of Frankenstein. Slayer, I should note, looked nothing like Frankenstein.

I've carried my children through blizzards and survived five tornadoes. I think it's five, anyway. I've lost count. And how nuts is it when you see the sky turn green and the clouds fall the way they do right before a tornado hits and go: "Aw, MAN. This again? How many times has this happened to me now?"

The question becomes what I did to tick off said gods (other than turning down that swan, of course) and how I can get back into their good graces. I'm thinking it might involve dyeing my hair some strange color.

Actually, I'm lying. I just feel like doing the hair thing, and that seemed like a good excuse. Doesn't it?

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

I've been getting more and more blog visitors from wonked out Google searches. In the past, I've listed off some of these search topics and responded to them individually, because I am all about the public service. And zombies. And secret ninja handshakes.

You know, the important stuff in life.

I save the best Google search topics in a little folder, and when I opened it last night, I realized that it was time for a little soul searching. All this time, I've been focused on what these search topics say about YOU. But it's time to evaluate what they say about ME.

It's frightening, really. Why? Well, get a load of the search topics that have recently led people to my blog:

Vampire mouth jumperJon Lovitz hand gestureMighty eyebrowsCarrie ho in bootsCould vampires be really, honestly?Underwear dog biscuitsPervy madlibsThe army of snarfThings you need to be BatmanBoob door knockerWeird eyebrow song thingWhat does it mean to be a freelance ninja?Mummies, werewolves, vampire, and zombies who am I?And I want M&M in my dressing room. But no red ones. Pick out the red ones.

After carefully evaluating this material, I have concluded that I am a complete wackjob. Because really, what other conclusion is there? I'm a mouth jumping, ho booted, freelance ninja with mighty eyebrows that has a supernatural creature-related identity crisis, but deals with it by pretending to be Batman and avoiding red M&Ms, all while installing door knockers on her knockers and making hand gestures while eating dog biscuits made out of underwear?

Monday, April 20, 2009

Funny, now that Twilight Parody Week is over, I'm having to resist the urge to post more parody. But I think we need to take a brief break so that my Fish Stick Jokeometer can recharge. It's been having problems with the battery; I might need to send it back to the manufacturer.

What? You thought I was making it all up? What kind of loony do you think I am?

Please don't answer that.

Anyway, more parody later on this week. For now, let's get on to other things. Like my general paranoia.

Every time I see the word paranoia, it makes me think of the role playing game. For you non-link-clickers out there, Paranoia is a game with very simple rules: if you show any indication that you understand the rules, the other players get to kill your character. Luckily, you've got clones. Every time we played, I ended up being the Happiness Officer, which means that I got to stuff brain-altering drugs with unknown effects down people's throats, all while singing annoying things like show tunes and Britney Spears songs. And if anyone refused my pills, I got to shoot them.

And if that's not fun, what is?

But that's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about your garden variety version of paranoia where random people keep parking outside your house to have lunch. You know, the kind of thing that happens to everybody. Right?

Right?

Seriously, we live on a side street not far from downtown (and when I say "downtown," I mean it in the quaint small town block with cutesy stores and lanterns instead of streetlights kind of way and not the gangstas and crack whores kind of way). It's not like we're in the middle of a bustling metropolis. But at least once a week, someone stops on the street in front of my house, turns off the car, and eats their lunch. And it's not the same person every time, either.

I wonder if this has anything to do with my practicing the Thriller dance in my front room every morning while wearing my son's Batcape and a psychedelic 70s print leotard.

Friday, April 17, 2009

This brings us to the last day of Twilight Parody Week, but I'm not done yet. I haven't even started cracking James-jokes, so there's plenty more to go. To make matters worse, I just finished New Moon, and we all know what that means: New Moon parody. We'll get to see more of Cob doing what he does best--turning into random things that sparkle.

So anyway, I'll still be updating the Twilight parody about once a week until someone stops me. That someone might even be me.

Edition 6 - Ward's Killer Pants

The dream flickered, the fish sticks vanishing into nothingness. Ellba waved sadly in farewell; she felt a strange affinity with all things fishy, being in love with a merpire and all.

But then, she found herself in another memory, standing in the woods by a sparkling pond, Ward at her back. She knew it was him; either that or she was being stalked by a giant ice cube, and we're not talking about the rapper. She shivered and wrapped her arms against the cold emanating from his porcelain but still ochre-tinged skin.

"I know what you are," she said.

"Say it," he murmured, frosty breath caressing her ear. "I want to hear you say it out loud."

"You're always cold. You're overprotective of processed fish products. You slosh when you walk, even when it's not raining."

"Slosh slosh slosh."

"You make fish lips at me when I'm not looking."

"At least I control it better than Jas does."

"I know what you are. You're a complete freak."

Ward spun her around to face him. "You're kidding, right?"

"What, you think those fish lips are normal?"

He slid his hand over her cheek and cupped her chin. All of the breath left her body. She figured she'd better start breathing again, because she never saw Ward take a breath, and that was going to make CPR awfully tough.

Suddenly, she blinked. In slo-mo. Now it all made sense: the lack of breath, the way he never ate, the baby pool that mysteriously appeared in her room the other night.

"Are you part vampire, part fish?" she asked, taking an involuntary step back.

He nodded gravely. "I have the fins of a killer, Ellba. You don't want me."

She looked him up and down. He looked normal enough except for the faint ochre tinge to his skin and the gills. But really, it wasn't polite to point out the mutant tendencies of a guy that you were hoping to get to first base with. "Um... forgive me for asking this, but I've got to know. Exactly what parts of you are fishy?"

"Watch," he said, stepping toward the pond. He jumped into the air, leaving a pair of empty pants slouched on the ground. Before Ellba could get a glimpse of anything good, the lower half of his body shimmered, the legs merging, skin shifting into something shiny and scale-like. His feet morphed into a perfectly smooth, sparkling flipper, and he slid into the water without a splash.

"Wow," said Ellba when he surfaced. "I can't believe you jumped out of your pants like that. Do they have velcro on them or something?"

"Ellba," he growled. "You're out in the woods alone with a hungry vampiric merman who thinks you smell like meatballs, and you're worried about my pants?"

"Seriously," she said. "That was awesome. The merpire thing is neat and all, but I've never seen anyone jump out of their pants before."

"I could kill you right now. Aren't you afraid?"

"Go ahead and kill me," she said lightly, "But jump out of your pants again first."

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Finally, frustrated with the rampant lack of lip contact going on, Ellba fell into a restless sleep. The restless part may have had something to do with the fact that she was lying half in a baby pool with her legs smothered in Saran Wrap, but probably not. She was cradled on a rock hard, ice cold merpire chest, after all, and those were ideal sleeping conditions in Ellba's world.

She dreamt.

She dreamt in excrutiating detail about the first time that she met Ward, the kind of dream that you only have when someone is writing about you and forgot to put in some of the good stuff that happened to you before and is forced to resort to a dream sequence. She dreamt about the marinara incident in Chemistry class and its aftermath:

"So how's your first day going, Ellba?" asked her new friend, Chessica, eagerly bouncing in her seat. "Meet any hot guys?"

"Um... kind of." Ellba wasn't really paying attention. She was looking for a slim figure with a gliding walk and dreamy ochre eyes. She liked the way they sparkled. It almost made up for the fact that she now smelled like garlic and had pasta sauce stuck in her hair.

"Sparkle, sparkle, sparkle," she murmured.

"Um, what?" asked Chessie, following her gaze. "Oh. Don't even bother. The Kullins don't date. At least not us mere mortals."

"I wasn't thinking about dating him."

"Of course not. You were thinking about using his ass as an end table."

Ellba rolled her eyes. Twice, for emphasis. "Whatever."

She started eating, trying not to stare at the table where the Kullins sat with untouched lunch trays. She knew their names; in a small town like Spork, everyone was in everyone else's business. Ali, Mett, and Rosa seemed pretty okay, but Jas had this strange, uncontrollable habit of making fish lips at people. It was kind of freaky.

The door opened, and there he was. He passed by their table without even a glance in her direction. Ellba sighed and took a bite of her fish stick; suddenly he was glaring at her from across the room. His ochre eyes smoldered, only not literally because that would be really creepy.

She put the fish stick down. She'd only known him for half a day, but she already knew he was the kind of guy that a girl would give up anything to be with, even processed pseudo-fish products.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

This week's Thing That Makes Me Snarf is, of course, a Twilight parody. I think the ending is my favorite part.

I'll be writing more parody for the rest of the week, and there are things I need to know, essential pieces of information that shall help me make this Twilight parody all that it can be (without joining the Army). For example, if you were stuck in an alleyway and surrounded by a gang of violent teens, who would you want to save you? Ward, Cob, or Jesus?

Now, in other news, you may remember that I declared this the week of Twilight parody in an effort to claim the top spot on the "good ideas for a Twilight parody" Google search. And really, you ought to remember that unless the thought of being saved by Ward/Cob drives all other conscious thought from your mind. In which case you need psychological help. You are also a member of my target audience.

Anyway, after day one of Twilight Parody Week, I claimed the top spot. So now I'm looking for other ways to prove my Spooflight supremacy. (Spooflight equals Twilight plus Spoof. See how creative I am?) On Monday, I was ranked on page 21 of the regular old Twilight parody Google search. Yesterday, that ranking rocketed up to page 7.

This brings to mind burning questions that should be read aloud in a movie announcer voice: Will Carrie establish Twilight parody domination? What page rank will she be as of Friday morning? Will she ever find a %$ing title? Where can one find vampiric sparkle makeup? And (SPOILER ALERT) who is Melba?

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

I have still failed to come up with a title for the Twilight parody, although y'all had some rocking good suggestions. Somewhere out there in the proverbial ether there is a play on words involving sparkly merpires, and I intend to find it.

Oh, and I already hit number one on the "good ideas for a Twilight parody." Awful quick, wasn't it? Either way, I've declared it the week o' Twilarity, and Twilarity we shall have.

Sparkly Twilarity, even.

You may also notice that I've got a link to past editions of the Twilight parody in the sidebar in case you've missed any. They're kind of sort of sequential. Kinda.Edition 4: Meatballs Are Not For Kissing

Luckily, Ellba didn't have to explain the baby pool, because Harley didn't even come into the room. He always said that the vampire and guppy print wallpaper gave him nightmares.

"Sorry to wake you up, Harley," said Ellba. "I think the painkillers are making me talk in my sleep."

"But I thought I heard sloshing."

"Oh, I slosh in my sleep too. You should hear me. Slosh slosh slosh, all the time. Sometimes I slosh so loud that I can't hear myself think."

That was one thing that Ellba liked about her father: he didn't hover. He left her alone to hang out with freaky supernatural creatures in her room in the middle of the night.

"Ward?" she said quietly.

A streak of ochre light crossed the floor, slipping into the baby pool without even rippling its sparkling surface. Then Ward smiled at her, the cockeyed kind of smile that says, "Yeah, I might be a semi-stalker, but that's okay because I am sparkly and sexy. Sparkle sparkle sparkle."

Or maybe he said that out loud. Ellba wasn't sure. The painkillers, remember?

She smiled in delight. "I'll go put on my bathing suit and swathe my injured leg in a roll of Saran Wrap to keep my bandages dry. Wait right here."

Moments later, she slipped into the pool beside him. It was tough being so close to him, the glint of the bedside lamp on his ochre scales drove her to distraction. Her pulse thumped so loud that she was sure he could hear it.

She couldn't stand it any longer.

"Kiss me," she said, tilting her chin up to his. "I'm not afraid."

"What?" he replied. "I couldn't hear you. You're sloshing too loud."

"Kiss me, damnit!"

"Ellba, you don't understand how dangerous that would be for you. I don't know if I could explain it in terms you could understand, but I'll try." He paused thoughtfully, his fin churning the water in a rhythmic, almost hypnotic pulse.

"You don't need to. It's a natural part of your being. I noticed it that first day when you walked into Chemistry class."

"Oh! So that's why you tried to pour pasta sauce on me!"

"Exactly. It's one of your most endearing characteristics. I mean, the whole klutz thing works; don't get me wrong. And the part where you're not creeped out by my stalkerish tendencies is nice. But mostly, I love you because you remind me of ground beef."

"That's so romantic, Ward. But why won't you kiss me?"

Ward sighed. "Well, I drink blood, right? Human blood. And you're human. So it would kind of be like you going out to the pasture and kissing the cow before they made it into hamburger."

"Kissing me is like kissing a cow?" Ellba wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure I like that."

Monday, April 13, 2009

Minor update: We have a new minivan. His name is Helsing. In my spare time, I plan to run over vampires with it.

So last week, when I was checking my visitor stats, I learned that I am second in the Google results for good ideas for a Twilight parody. You know what this means; you remember what happened when I became obsessed with my quest for Batman eyebrow domination.

I must prove my parodical superiority.

So this week shall be Twilight parody week, just so I can see what a week's full of entries on the subject will do to my standings. You know what this means: a week of hot merpire action! We may even have a wet t-shirt contest.

Now, the first thing that's got to happen is a title, because I cannot continue to call it The Twilight Parody. I've got a couple of ideas...

I finally think I'm caught up, although I got so far behind that I started to lose track of what I read. I've got a case of Reader's Alzheimers. Anyway, I'm at book 34 of the Read 50 Books in 2009 Challenge. I know some of you are doing it too: how's it going?

In other news, it looks like we're going to have a new car in the not-so-distant future, which is a good thing because mine refuses to shift gears. My zombie minivan has Alzheimers too, kinda in the same way that a lot of dogs and their owners resemble each other. Although I'm still in better shape than the girl that I saw earlier this week. She drove off the road and collided head on with an electric pole. Being the so-called wilderness rescuer that I am (I say "so-called" because I've been trained but never actually rescued anyone in the wilderness), I sprinted for the car and helped her. Imagine running into a pole and looking up to see me, waving some little cardboard cutouts at you to test your visual field:

"How many zombies do you see?"

She was okay, BTW. Because I know you'll ask.

UPDATE: A short while ago, I was a runner up in a contest on Kiersten's blog. My prize? She wrote some hilarious poetry about me. Check it out; can't stop giggling.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Kiersten's comment from yesterday made me think of the first superhero I ever met.

Picture this: Slayer and I have moved in together, because he said he was moving to Cleveland, and I invited myself along for the ride. We moved into this huge-ola high rise apartment with a view of Lake Erie and a drug dealer across the hall. (They did not tell us about the drug dealer in their promotional literature, either, which made me very disappointed.) My place of business was still in Toledo, so I telecommuted. We had a two bedroom apartment, one bedroom of which contained my office.

On nice days, I liked to keep my window open so I could hear the gulls while I was working. Not that I particularly like gulls, but it was an attempt to fool myself into thinking that I was living in some tropical paradise instead of near a lake that I won't swim in because of all of the medical waste. Unfortunately, this charade was ruined when they started redoing the parking-lot-slash-underground-garage. Imagine lots of pounding and beeping-in-reverse trucks and you've pretty much got it.

But this is where the superhero comes in. See, there was another high rise down the coast from ours, and you could just see it out the window if you nearly dislocated your vertebrae. Or, if you wanted to take it easy on yourself, you could go out on the balcony. Anyway, I was on a conference call one morning when I heard the yelling. It sounded vaguely like, "Shut up, you f-ing f-ers!!!"

That's when I saw him. He was out on his balcony at 8:30 in the morning with a can of Old Milwaukee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. His mullet fluttered in the lake breeze; his wife-beater displayed his scrawny, sunburnt arms to maximum effect. He was the one man with the nerve to take a stand against the evils of early morning construction. He was MULLET MAN.

And sure enough, every morning they were out there, so was he, shouting various conjugations and combinations of the f-bomb, waving his beer in irate fury, running his hands through that party-in-the-front hairstyle of his. But this was no party, for Mullet Man felt strongly about the sanctity of his early morning booze-on, and he started flicking lit cigarettes down at the workers. One morning, he was simply gone. Vanished off into the hazy distance to help people in need: when early morning stillness is shattered by the monotonous beeping of a truck driving backwards.

It was probably for the best. My clients were always asking me who was shouting in the background, and it was hard for me not to giggle.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Yesterday, one of my neighbors took the Batson to a movie while the twins napped. Now, I'm really in trouble, because I ought to get her a little something to say thank you. That's how our neighborhood rolls, and I'm all for gifts, but... how do I put this? I'm great at gifting things that are ninja- or zombie-related. I'm fabulous when it comes to putting together a box o' snarfy random stuff. If said neighbor was possibly interested in a ninja duckie to float in her bathtub, I could happily point her in the right direction.

You see where I'm going with this. My neighbors give each other flowers; I have to resist the urge to decorate the bouquet with little plastic shuriken. They bake cakes for each other; I resist the urge to leave this on their doorsteps. They come over when I'm sitting outside the house to ask what I'm crocheting and aren't quite sure what to say when I tell them it's a nosferatu.

The last time this happened, I tried to make him dance so he'd seem more comical and less freaky. I can now tell you from experience that this isn't reassuring to the average neighbor.

Strangely enough, I have no problems getting or making normal baby gifts. Although the sparkly toilet onesie is tempting... Bestfriend and the Electric Lovitz ARE having a baby, you know.

Although I'm not really sure if that sparkly toilet onesie falls into the good sparkle or bad sparkle category. I'd put it more in the confusing sparkle group.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

It probably doesn't surprise anyone to hear that I'm a longtime player of role playing games. Don't believe me? Look, I'm on Amazon! Um... yeah. I admit that on occasion I'll look myself up on Amazon every once in a while just so I can squee a little and say things like, "Look! I'm on Amazon!" in pseudo-casual tones.

This really is relevant to the Aztec thing. I swear.

Anyway, one of my favorite things to do on a Saturday night is get together and go pretend vampire hunting, or pretend to go vampire hunting, or pretend pretendishly to hunt pretendesque vampires. (Trying to make the point that I know this whole hunting of vampires thing isn't real. Is it coming through?) A large part of being a good gamer, other than the ability to act and the mental prowess to realize, as noted above, that none of it is real for god's sake, is problem solving. Your character has been backed into the corner of the baby pool, and the evil merpire is trying to suck out her blood. What do you do?

I always yelled the name of my favorite Aztec god. Frank.

You heard me right. His real name is Huitzilopochtli, which I think is tremendously fun to say. In general, I'm not a fan of the Aztecs because I have this thing about human sacrifice, but you've got to give them at least a little credit in the cool name department. Huitzilopochtli is a freaking cool name. So every time the merpires or werewolves or mutant guinea pigs would attack our characters, I would yell, "I summon Huitzilopochtli! Everybody dies!"

I'm quite sure that everyone loved me for it.

My boyfriend at the time couldn't pronounce Huitzilopochtli, and I teased him about that mercilessly. So he came up with the nickname Frank. And it stuck. I am fairly sure that this is a step in the wrong direction, unless one is filling out one of those automated test sheets with all the bubbles on them, in which case the name Huitzilopochtli is pure and unadulterated torture.

Our computer won't run any games. Or videos. Or anything remotely fun. So I'm thinking about renaming it Huitzilopochtli. The Frumious Bandersnatch apparently isn't evil enough.

In other news, I forgot to mention yesterday that Fabulous Agent Kate, otherwise known as FabAKa, has a snazzy new website! It even has a bio of yours truly, which is cool because now I have somewhere else to visit online when I want to squee.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Okay. This week's Thing That Makes Me Snarf is not necessarily funny on its own, and actually, you might not want to watch the whole thing, because it's one of those funny-but-on-the-verge-of-painful kinds of things. You have to picture me sitting on the couch, repeatedly saying, "This week on American Idol: WHEN SPARKLES GO BAD!" in a booming movie trailer voice. Lady Gaga almost ruined sparkles for me, particularly when the evil sparkles infected the backup dancers and gave them epileptic seizures. It just goes to show you kids; not every sparkle is created equal.

Really, I just wanted to reach into the screen and zip her eyeball shut. This kind of thing gives sparkles a bad name.

But here are a few things that give sparkles a good name. There's the unseen ending to Twilight, all 29 seconds of which are worth watching:

All of these things are kewl sparklies. But I feel like it's a part of my patriotic duty to point out that just because it's sparkly doesn't mean it's nice. It may jump out of the baby pool and eat you. Please. Just say no to bad sparkles, people.

Friday, April 3, 2009

I admit it. I have no idea what to write about today, so I'm going to play my favorite game. That's right, kids, it's time for RANDOM ASSOCIATION! Pretend I said that in a big booming voice with lots of cheering in the background. Or if you're not good at pretending, say it in a big booming voice and then cheer to get the same effect.

Anyway, here goes.

Lately, Slayer and the Batson have been doing the Wii Fitness test a lot. The Batson was walking around yesterday repeatedly asking Slayer if he wanted to do his Fit Wiiness test. And Wiiness, in case you hadn't figured it out, is pronounced like Weenus. And I am pervy, so I find this hilarious. Anything that rhymes with the word for manparts is funny in my book.

Weenus naturally makes me think of the Very Secret Diaries, since Legolas is said to be the son of Weenus. (WARNING: that link is twenty different kinds of pervy!) And who can think about Legolas without thinking of his hair? That makes me think of a no-fail way that I used to win arguments when I was in college. I'd grab all my hair, make pigtails with my hands, grin idiotically, and run straight at the person who was trying to argue with me.

I won a lot of arguments in college. Because really, how do you argue with the pigtail rush? You don't.

Around that time, I was asked to rush a sorority. They never saw the pigtail thing; I bet that if they had they would have reconsidered the whole offer. Either that or change their name to Beta Eta Pigtail.

I don't think I would make a good sorority girl, but for some reason I kept dating frat boys while I was in college. Once (okay, okay... more like three times because I kept breaking up with him and then changing my mind), I dated the president of a fraternity. I thought I was hot stuff.

I was, of course. But that had less to do with my dating of the pres and more to do with the fact that I kept sitting out on the quad without any sunscreen and was so sunburnt that I actually radiated heat to any people sitting too close. I was so cripsy that I'm surprised that no one tried to break off my leg and eat it. Of course, I didn't hang around with the same kinds of people (i.e., ninjas) then as I do now.

I could keep going ad infinitum, but now that I've shown off my fancy Latin I'll stop.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

I wrote a short story. You know, during my copious spare time between taking care of three kids, discovering the most perfect recipe ever for beef carnitas, and furthering the status of zombinja fans everywhere.

Zombinja equals zombie plus ninja, of course.

The funniest thing is that we all know my problem with titles. Any kind of names, really. But this one came very easily. Almost like the Batson's name. That came easily to us, but then when it came time to name Left and Right, I wanted names that Slayer thought sounded like Little House on the Prairie, and he wanted names that sounded like strippers.

I do not want to have that kind of mental association with my daughters.

At least we're not as bad as celebrities, though. I mean, REALLY. Jason Lee's son is named Pilot Inspektor. That's right, Inspektor with a K, because it's important to distinguish him from all those other Pilot Inspectors out there. His teachers might get confused about which Pilot Inspector is which, but at least now he can be the Pilot-Inspektor-with-a-K.

And then there's Jermaine Jackson's son, Jermajesty. He will never get a date. Why? Because I dare you to find me a decent woman who can lovingly murmur, "Kiss me, Jermajesty," without snarfing.

Seriously. Try it. I'll wait.

I've known a couple of people like this, too. There's one kid who goes to our local McDonalds to play, and his name is Raiden. That's right, as in Mortal Kombat. There was a girl in one of my writer's groups a long time ago who had a son named Raistlin, as in the Dragonlance series.

Why not just tattoo DORK on their foreheads and be done with it? I'm all for fun sci-fi stuff (see the zombinja reference above), but really. Even I know that's going too far, and I'm the kind of person who is already trying to figure out if I can bribe people into dressing up like merpires, werethings, and disposable humans. I need a new blog design.

Oh, and the title? For Want of a Machete.

Le sigh. My normal Wednesday post is below. I tried to set this one up for tomorrow morning, but apparently I don't know what day it is, so it's up early. Whenever you're reading this, pretend that it's Thursday.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

I think people's obsessions say a lot about them. For example, I give you this:

My bulletin board during my junior high years, with my friend from down the street standing in front of it. Yes, that was Michael J. Fox, in all his teen magazine poster glory. I was obsessed with him, not her, in case you were wondering. I even used to kiss him good night. I thought I had a picture of that, but I must have destroyed it back when I thought I still had a chance of being cool.

Then, I was obsessed with New Kids on the Block. I had a brief Madonna obsession but didn't have the guts to wear a bustier in public, and now that I do have the guts I can't do it unless I want to frighten away small children. Figures, don't it?

Looking back on the past six-ish months of posts on The Wonder That Is My Blog, I realize that it's really just a big recording of all of my obsessions in chronological order. So without further ado, I bring you a rehash of my favorite things. Songstyle.

Eyebrows on Batman and vampire guppiesZom Cruise and Pampire biting on puppiesSparkle-y merpires and their ochre finsThese are a few of my favorite things

Zombies all lurching and moaning in massesNinjas all flocking to save all our assesRichard Simmons keeps dancing in pink water wingsThese are a few of my favorite things

When the end comesWhen the sword swingsWhen I'm staking VladI simply remember my favorite thingsAnd then I don't feel so bad

About Me

I like writing books, playing games, fighting evil, and cooking (everyone's got to have hobbies). My YA zombie comedy, BAD TASTE IN BOYS, is available from Delacorte Press right now! The next Kate Grable adventure, BAD HAIR DAY, will be available November 2012. Which is la awesome.